


I’m a wreck (I’m your wreck)

by aeoleus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: A teeny bit of canon divergence lol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, a leetle bit of whump cus why not, post spider man: far from home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: (Spoilers for Far From Home)Peter Parker stumbles through Michelle Jones’ window at 11:59 PM with a black eye and bruises around his neck.





	I’m a wreck (I’m your wreck)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this listening to: I’m Your Wreck by Mt. Joy. A truly solid song and like fully spoke to me. (Like every phone call I AM pacing the halls!!!! I ALSO sleep with the TV on!!!!!!!!) listen to it yall. Also peter/mj is creepin up on me for my favorite pairing. Like honestly.

The three knocks on MJ’s window are hesitant, far apart, and about fifteen minutes late. She rolls her eyes at herself in the bathroom mirror, shoves her toothbrush in her mouth, and goes over to open the window.

“It’s about time, spider-boy. You’re-“

Peter stares at her with dead eyes, one nearly swollen shut, before he falls directly onto her carpet.

“Peter!” She drops her toothbrush and rushes to him. 

MJ turns him over, noting the bruises on his neck, mottling in the exact print of a fucking hand. Jesus Christ.

“M’sorry...” Peter says dazedly. “I got real dizzy,”

“What happened?” MJ is panicked, she’s fucking panicked, but aren’t you supposed to pretend to stay calm when something like this happens?

“Bad fight.” Peter coughs harshly, one hand brushing the bruising on his neck. “Didn’t want to freak May out.”

“So you decided to freak me out instead?!” MJ asks, frantically pulling the window shut.

Peter makes a slow face of realization and tries to get up.

“M’sorry, you’re right. I’ll go-“

“No, no no no-“ MJ puts a hand on his chest and gently pushes him back onto the carpet, which is just as well, since the tiny movement had caused all color to drain from his face. “I’m sorry, you just scared me. Please stay.”

Peter shuts his eyes.

“Sounds good.” He mumbles. “I’m just gonna take a quick nap.”

“No, Peter- are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Yeah.” He mumbles into the carpet. “My back.”

“Okay, okay, can I see?” MJ takes a deep breath and tries to steady her hands.

“Yeah. Just....gimme a sec.”

Peter remains on his back for a few more seconds, before he slowly sits up. He leans one shoulder against MJ’s wall and taps the spider on his chest, loosening the entire suit. MJ helps him take off the arms and pull it down to his waist. This probably should be weird but she’s so worried about him she doesn’t even have time to think about the implications.

“Okay, okay, Peter...”

Oh Jesus. Yeah, he’s hurt.

There’s a cut a few inches long, several centimeters deep, surrounded by bruising so deeply purple and red MJ has a hard time looking at it, beneath his left shoulder blade. It’s bleeding still, sluggishly. MJ runs her fingers over the bruising, and Peter flinches away.

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, blessedly free of injuries.

“It just hurts.” He chokes out, and MJ can hear that he’s crying.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know. I-it’s deep, Peter. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“It’ll heal, I don’t need stitches.” MJ hears him sniffle, and his head hangs lower onto his chest. “Can you just, can you just clean it up?”

MJ is silent for a moment. She has a first aid kit in her bathroom. She has ice packs in the freezer. She has her boyfriend sitting with his hands in his head, injured and exhausted. She can fix this.

“Ok.” and she gets up to begin to fix it.

* * *

She hands Peter an ice pack and motions to his eye, having decided the bruising around his neck was probably going to have to heal on its own.

He doesn’t say anything, but looks at her with a red eye, tear tracks pushing a path through the dirt and sweat on his cheek. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead. He seems to relax infinitesimally. He leans into her.

“I’m going to clean it. It’s going to hurt.” MJ says, feigning steadiness.

“Ok.” Peter’s voice cracks. She holds an old towel underneath the cut and pours water from a bottle over it. The water runs red into the towel and MJ makes a face. That’s going directly into the trash. Peter takes a deep, shaky breath, flinching harder when MJ gently pats it dry with a paper towel.

“I’m done,” She says. “I’m all done.”

“Okay,” Peter says, like he’s not in terrible pain.

“I’m just gonna, uh, use the butterfly bandages.” MJ says, and she winces with Peter as she pushes the cut together and places the bandage on top. It takes a few minutes to place them from top to bottom, mostly because MJ stops halfway through to soothe Peter down from what seems to be partway to a panic attack.

When she’s done, she tapes gauze over it, and it looks contained and compartmentalized now. Like she’s fixed the cut, now she can fix Peter. She gets up and hands Peter a water bottle and a couple Advil. He reaches for the water but refuses the Advil.

“It doesn’t do anything.” He says. “I metabolize it too quick.”

“Oh.” MJ puts it back, and sits cross-legged in front of Peter as he opens the water with one hand, the other holding the pack to his eye.

They stay silent for a few minutes. MJ draws her knees to her chin and watches Peter. He stops meeting her eyes after a while, and pulls deeper into himself.

“Tell me.” MJ says.

Peter doesn’t pretend to not know what she’s talking about, but he stalls by moving so his back is to her bed. Finally he looks up.

“I miss him.”

MJ doesn’t ask which _him_ he’s referring to. Whether it’s Stark or his uncle or his father or someone else lost in the war. She waits for him to talk more.

“Beck, He uh, made some illusions for me. Told me if I was better Mr. Stark would still be here. He crawled...” Peter buries his head in his hands. “He crawled out of his grave.”

MJ is horrified. That’s not really what she was expecting him to say.

“It’s not true, Peter. It’s not.” She says. “Stark made his choice for the rest of us. For you. Nothing you could have done could’ve stopped him.”

“I know.” He says thickly. “I just...I miss him.”

“I know.” MJ says quietly. She scoots to sit next to him by the bed, and she takes his hand, rests her head on his shoulder, and she lets him cry.

* * *

About an hour later, Peter is finally calm again, curled in her bed in a pair of her sweatpants with his eyes shut and his hands holding tight to the arm MJ has around him, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. 

There’s a documentary on about the Chernobyl disaster and MJ finally thinks Peter has fallen asleep. Unconsciously, she begins to run her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. It calms her, weirdly enough. In the three months they’ve been dating, Peter has hopped from catastrophe to catastrophe with barely time to breathe. It helps, that he’s under her hands and she can feel him, here, here, here.

Not dusted on a foreign planet, not bleeding and broken on a battlefield, not close to death on a bridge. Here.

The documentary ends and MJ pauses scratching his scalp to find the remote and put on Parks and Recreation. Peter stirs and shifts closer to her.

“Don’t stop, feels good.” He mumbles into her arm in a show of vulnerability that makes her heart swell. She bites back the sarcastic retort that she would have said had Peter been awake and coherent, rather than blearily nestling further into her covers like he’s burrowing, with his face more bruise than skin. Instead she leans down and gently kisses his forehead, and resumes running her hands through his hair.

He opens his eyes, just a little, and stares at her.

“I’m sorry I’m such a wreck.” He says quietly, heartbreakingly. MJ meets his gaze, level and calm, until he averts his eyes.

“You’re my wreck.” She says. And Peter seems to have no response for that, so he closes his eyes again, and moves closer, impossibly closer, to her. MJ sighs and twirls a lock of his brown curls around her finger, not even flinching when some dried blood comes loose.

He falls asleep within minutes, and MJ takes longer, her mind racing with worry. Eventually the soothing white noise of the TV lulls her to sleep, her forehead pushing into Peter’s neck.

* * *

When her alarm goes off at 6 AM for school the next morning, Peter is gone, and all that’s left of him are some blood stained paper towels and a small picture of a black flower on her bedside table, a hastily scrawled heart underneath.

**Author's Note:**

> HMU on tumblr @ ta1k-less to watch me rant about tony stark and other various dumb things


End file.
